


Engage The Enemy More Closely

by sleepylotus



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-10 05:50:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7832782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepylotus/pseuds/sleepylotus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post COTBP, Commodore Norrington has returned from unsuccessful pursuit of the pirate Jack Sparrow, to find Elizabeth freshly jilted by that troublesome blacksmith Turner. At a ball James bolsters his courage to try winning her again. </p><p>Written for the Tumblr prompt: A stolen kiss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Engage The Enemy More Closely

**Author's Note:**

> I. For neshevynlowenna and the Tumblr prompt: A stolen kiss. Thank you for the inspiration!
> 
> II. Apologies to Admiral Nelson and Patrick O’Brian. Disney, however, gets none, because James Norrington deserved better. That said, enjoy!

In the colonial backwater that was Port Royal the upper crust seized on every opportunity to engage in a little gaiety. When the HMS Dauntless finally returned from its pursuit of the escaped pirate Jack Sparrow, Lady Wintermere decided a ball was in good order. It would have seemed ungrateful of the guest of honor, Commodore James Norrington, to point out the irony of the endeavor, considering that they had in fact _failed_ in their mission of catching the kohl-eyed pirate, not to mention the great ship itself was in tatters thanks to a violent storm. It would have been unforgivably rude to skip it all together, which was what James really wished to do.

In the thick of the battle, James determined with chagrin that the real reason for the ball was that Wintermere possessed three daughters of marrying age, and a room full of Royal Navy officers, several second sons of various ranks of the Peerage, fresh off a cruise and filled with her potent but delicious punch only helped the girls’ chances of finding a husband. The aging debutante had a wry sense of humor, and the buntings that decorated the ballroom sported the Naval semaphore signal for _Engage The Enemy More Closely._

Indeed.

Despite his recent failures, the mothers of Port Royal seemed to think the Commodore the most eligible bachelor from here to Boston. _Just the thing,_ was James Norrington. They harangued him like hounds on a fox, intercepting him at the punch bowl, the buffet, and ferreting him out when he attempted to hide his 6’1” frame in a circle of conversation on the sidelines. It was _ridiculous,_ for after his recent disappointment the _last_ thing that interested James was pursuing engagement again.

Once upon a time there had been _one_ thing he’d enjoyed about balls. They had provided the most cherished opportunity to clasp Elizabeth Swann’s delicate hand in his and lead her in practiced circles upon the dance floor. A few times he’d even been so immensely lucky as to receive a turn about the garden, though now he suspected she’d only acquiesced to avoid her other less desirable suitors.

She was there, of course.

Elizabeth sat in one of the chairs on the sidelines, pretty as spring’s first bloom in a pale yellow dress, even if she looked as utterly miserable as he was. She too had known her share of recent disappointment, for after jilting James for the blacksmith William Turner, the boy had in turn decided to abandon his bride to be for the chance to find his fortune at sea. To compound upon her heartbreak the vicious whispers of society proclaimed all manners of unkindness, such as _she was so ruined by that pirate Jack Sparrow that not even a blacksmith would want her._

Nonsense, of course, but it was more than enough to turn the once most sought prize in Port Royal into a pariah. This turn of events should have brought James Norrington at least some small modicum of pleasure, but at seeing his former fiancée appearing so utterly wretched for her loss, James could not find it in his heart to gloat.

No, indeed, the thing he wanted most was to offer comfort to the woman who had shattered his heart. He knew better than to think he might have a chance once more with the boy gone; he knew it in the most academic capacity that to try again would be a fool’s errand at best. And yet _the heart_ , his foolish battle-worn heart, could not help but whisper otherwise. It urged him to approach her while she looked so down and lonely on the outskirts of the action. After a couple glasses of claret that whisper increased to an insistent chant.

It won, of course, and with a pounding heart James dared engage the enemy at close range. “You are looking well tonight, Miss Swann.”

Elizabeth looked up from her silent reverie, quite surprised to find none other than the man she had cruelly embarrassed in front of the whole of Port Royal standing near. “I beg your pardon?” she asked, for she truly had not caught a word he said.

James cleared his throat, looking about the room, _anywhere_ but her large doe eyes. “Ah…I said that you look well. Elizabeth.”

“Oh. Oh!” She sat up a little straighter, a nervous hand flying to her throat. “Thank you, James. I…” She looked away, blinking rapidly, and to James’ surprise he detected the glitter of tears in the corners of her eyes. He had _never_ seen Elizabeth Swann cry. Panic seized him, and immediately he groped for his handkerchief, offering it up as he would his own sword in a gesture of surrender.

“Please, my lady, I did not mean…”

_To give offense._

_Had_ he given offense?

Did his mere _presence_ displease her so?

“I am sorry,” she apologized, clenching her jaw as she valiantly beat back the waterworks. “It is just you are so kind. So _bloody_ kind.”

James stood ramrod straight, as taken aback by her language as the contradictory nature of her words. “I…”

Elizabeth could see that she had sufficiently flummoxed the Commodore, and hated herself even more. “I have been horrible to you. Please, James, do not feel obligated to play the gentleman on my account. I am _quite_ resigned to my fate as an exile. I daresay I deserve it.”

James could not contain the frown that furrowed his brow. “Quite the opposite, I assure you. In fact I was hoping you might grant me the honor of a dance.”

Elizabeth turned those liquid dark eyes up to him, and he felt his knees go weak under the onslaught of that gaze. His appendages only softened more as she granted him a smile that did not quite reach her eyes. “Nothing would please me more, James, but surely you know what they are saying about me now? I would not tarnish your reputation more than I already have.”

The pain in her words cut him like a dagger, and James was gripped by the sudden urge to grab her up and hold her until the sadness faded from her eyes. How on earth had that foolish boy, that silly _stupid_ blacksmith, abandoned her? James found he would still give his right hand to be at her side, and gladly, and Will Turner threw her away. The folly of youth was to blame, perhaps, and the optimism of a green fledgling that something better always waited on the next horizon. James was not yet _old,_ and yet he certainly did not consider himself _young._ He was a _man_ , not a boy, and he knew his own heart and mind. If he was given one more chance to have Elizabeth he would _never_ let her go.

“Jealous tongues will wag, my lady. I couldn’t care less for their opinions, ill-conceived as they are. By my reckoning you are the most _radiant_ thing in this room.” Feeling rather bold, which was probably the claret’s doing, James extended his hand in invitation, bowing his head. “May I have this dance?”

A long moment passed in which James could hear his own pulse in his ears, and feared that troublesome muscle might very well beat out of his chest. She had the power to _destroy_ him, as she had already proved once. What madness was this, that he would give her the chance again? And yet his hand did not waver, steady in the face of his fear as though he prepared to go into battle.

 _Come with me,_ his eyes seemed to say, and as never before Elizabeth felt their pull. What alchemy was this? What spell was he weaving upon her?

When slowly she rested her hand upon his he felt the most powerful surge of triumph, as though he’d just singlehandedly scuttled the entire Spanish Armada. Ever so slowly, careful not to spook her, James closed his long fingers around hers. As he drew her to her feet she rather had the look about her of a woodland creature peeking out of its burrow. Cautious, wounded and wary of the world outside. James knew it well, for he himself had affected quite the same appearance the past few months.

Though he quivered with excitement inside, he somehow managed to hold himself steady as he led her out onto the dancefloor. Elizabeth could feel the weight of the ruckus of whispers rising around them, like the seas surging in a storm. Oh, they would both be run through the mill for this, she had no doubt. _Poor James_ she thought. _Haven’t I already caused him enough trouble?_

She must have faltered in her steps, for James renewed his hold upon her, paying her a gentle smile as though to say _Ignore them._ His arm was firm beneath his fingers, his body telling her without a word, _I will carry you if you need me to._

She may have leaned upon him more than what was necessary.

James did not seem to mind.

What had she ever done to inspire such devotion from a man like this? She surely did not know, but when they turned to face each other upon the dance floor Elizabeth felt as though she only truly saw James for the first time. He was tall and handsome and possessed the most bewitching emerald green eyes. They seemed to sparkle as he smiled down at her, before affecting a most courtly bow.

Elizabeth returned a curtsey, and as the dance began somehow all else seemed to fall away. The vicious whispers went quiet, lost in the din. Absently she could hear the rhythm of the music, and yet it was James’ hands that led her through the turns and steps. James’ hands that made her feel like she might be able to fly, a feeling she’d taken for granted before Will’s abandonment pulled the rug out from under her. As they twirled in a circle she found herself paying him a surprisingly joyful smile, and she was so beautiful in that moment James thought his heart might _stop._

Elizabeth thought of her coming out on her sixteenth birthday, and how she had saved the first dance for James. She had thought it a gesture of mere friendship then, and yet now she remembered how sure he had been, covering for her when she faltered, so nervous because the whole room had been staring at her, sizing her up, taking her measure as though she were a hog to go to slaughter. He’d always been a steady presence in her life, strong as heart of oak. She’d just been too much of a young fool to realize how rare a man like that was, and it was too late now. She’d burned that bridge to the ground.

It was over all too soon.

As James led her from the dancefloor Elizabeth suddenly dreaded that she would have to let him go. They faced each other once more, and etiquette demanded that they say something pleasant, and go their own ways. Instead they said nothing, and looked into each other’s eyes, both feeling equally lost.

Just as Elizabeth gathered enough courage to open her mouth to say something Mrs. Philpot, the busiest body in all of Port Royal, made sure to dash the moment, looping a pudgy arm through James’ own. “Commodore, I am so glad I found you! Excuse us, my dear.”

Before James could say a word the Gossip in Chief led him away, practically dragging the poor man through the crowd of guests. “What a dear you are, asking poor Miss Swann to dance,” she prattled with the authority of One Who Knows Best. “So awful what that blacksmith did to her, but then what a fool she was for passing on you, beg my pardon for saying. Now, have you met my daughter, Jane? She is most…”

The biddy’s voice droned on, and James cast a helpless glance over his shoulder towards Elizabeth, finding her watching them with a sad little smile. She lifted her hand in _goodbye,_ and James felt the fissure in his heart split wider.

“Ah, here we are! Commodore Norrington, may I present my daughter, Miss Jane?”

Absently James took the proffered hand, bowing mechanically. “A pleasure Miss…” He barely registered what he said or the girl before him, turning once more to scan the crowd, and his eyes caught flashes of Elizabeth’s golden hair moving quickly through the brightly colored throng. She dashed through the doors that led out to the garden, her head bowed as though she was crying. His heart rebelled against the reins of propriety, _demanding_ that he go after her, _now_.

Mrs. Philpot chattered on, and the girl Jane stared up at the tall Commodore with wide blue eyes. “…don’t you think?”

James realized that he was expected to give a response, and sputtered accordingly. “I…” He cast his eyes wildly about the room, and suddenly the cacophony of the crowd was simply too much. “Forgive me, Madam. I must…I simply must.”

James fled, leaving a scandalized Mrs. Philpot staring after his retreating form, and the girl Jane with the same silly look upon her round face framed in curls.

 

XXX

 

In the garden Elizabeth _wept._

She cried as she had not cried since her mother died, so many years ago. She supposed in a way it was a death she was mourning; a love she had not allowed even the chance to live, and a future she would never know. It was all her own fault, of course. She felt that to the marrow of her bones. And yet she did not know _how_ she could have been more than that which she truly was. She was a rogue at heart. A scamp, an imp, no matter how much silk and satin she wore, no matter how many pearls or diamonds she put on.

She was not worthy of James Norrington.

It was simple as that.

She never had been, and she never would be. She only regretted that she had _hurt_ him so deeply.

“Elizabeth?”

For the second time that night James managed to surprise her, and once more she sat up straight, silencing herself mid-hiccup. She froze like a rabbit caught in the wolf’s sights. “James?” Hastily she attempted to wipe her tears away with an already sodden kerchief. “What are you doing out here?”

“I saw you leave…you seemed distressed.”

This won a shaky laugh that held no joy. “I thought you would be engaged to Miss Philpot by now…” she attempted to joke, but found it only made her want to cry more.

When James offered his handkerchief this time she accepted, unable to meet his eyes.

“There was a skirmish,” he admitted deadpan. “But I managed to escape capture by the skin of my teeth.”

“Jane is a very nice girl,” Elizabeth said. “I’m sure she would make a fine wife. Sweet, demure, obedient…”

“How dreadfully boring,” said the Commodore, daring to sit on the stone bench beside Elizabeth. She sighed deeply, hanging her head.

After a long silence she finally spoke, “I am sorry. I am _so_ sorry for how I treated you. I was callous and rude and unforgivably heartless. I acted like a foolish child. You deserve someone _far_ better than I. Consider yourself lucky that we broke things off.”

James couldn’t help but think she had grown up a little in the short time he’d been gone.

“I beg to differ, Elizabeth. For despite everything, I still hold you in the highest regard.”

“Fool that you be, then. James, I—”

“I love you.” The words escaped his mouth before he could bite down upon them, as he had so many times before. He’d _never_ said those words to her, he realized. His love for Elizabeth was vast as the sea, a great roiling body of emotion within him, endless, fathomless, and yet he had _never_ been able to bring himself to speak of it until now, when they were left to gaze upon the wreckage from the salty shore.

Elizabeth gasped, looking upon him with parted lips, those deep brown eyes held wide. Even after the ravages of a fit of crying had its way with her, she was still _impossibly_ beautiful to him. She always would be, he knew.

“Oh James. After everything I have done to you? You shouldn’t.” But she was not unmoved by his confession, and her small hand reached out to clasp his. She was so delicate, and he likened her tiny mitt to a bird lighting upon him. Lovely, fragile, and oh so fleeting. His time with Elizabeth was always _so_ fleeting. But he did not _want_ to let her go, and his long fingers tightened upon hers.

“I can no more help it than I can change the weather,” he informed her. “But even if I could command myself to cease, I _would not_. You are spirited and intelligent and most assuredly the _only_ woman for me, Elizabeth Swann.”

Elizabeth hung her head for a long time, the urge to weep once more convulsing her narrow frame. What had she _done_ to this man? How had she bewitched him so thoroughly? If there was some word, some potion, that could release him, she would grant him his freedom. For she knew she was no better than a craggy shoal hidden just beneath the waves, upon which James’ vessel would be doomed to wreck again and again.

Suddenly she stood, and he with her. “You are too sweet, James Norrington. Too _good_ for the likes of me.” She stood on tiptoe, kissing him on the cheek. She meant it to be a kiss of goodbye. Something sweet to remember her by, after she had brought him _so much_ misery.

James did not know what impulse overcame him.

It was possibly the most ungentlemanly thing he had ever committed in his life, but feeling her mouth so close to his—he could stand it no longer. With a gentle hand upon her cheek he pulled her back to him, stealing a kiss that was _achingly_ sweet and yet also managed to curl Elizabeth’s toes. James Norrington had _never_ kissed her, she realized, and certainly never _like that._

Before she could stop herself Elizabeth leaned in for more, steadying herself with a palm on his chest. Only momentarily was James at a loss, pausing for one impossibly long moment before boldly placing a hand on her waist, pulling her closer.

Her lips were like rose petals, plump and velvety soft, just as somehow he’d always known they would be. Hungrily he explored her mouth, the hard edges of her little white teeth and the slickness of that clever tongue that had the power to lead him to such exquisite ruin. He felt her soften against him, the most maddening little sounds escaping her throat, spurring him on. They kissed for what to James felt like a blessed eternity, but only could have been a minute at most. It was Elizabeth who pulled back first, gasping for breath, eyes too wide.

Usually James’ mind was clear and concise, his thoughts orderly and ship-shape as the vessels he commanded. But this night, with Elizabeth finally in his arms, his brain felt like a fire in a powder magazine. He leaned his forehead against hers, attempting to gather his thoughts. He hardly recognized his own voice as he asked, “Elizabeth, is there any way, _any way at all_ , that you would consider letting me court you again? I think I made quite the botch of it last time.”

He realized that he’d made a grave mistake last round. He’d courted her _father,_ a battle he knew he could win, rather than engage the more uncertain adversary of Elizabeth herself.

Elizabeth sighed deeply, in what James mistook for reluctance. In fact, it was Elizabeth fighting a battle with her own conscience. She found she liked the idea of James courting her very much, and yet she _knew_ to the marrow of her bones that she was bad for James Norrington. That to accept his attentions now, to rekindle hope, would be even more heartless than her first refusal of him. Torn, she hid against his chest, narrowly refusing the urge to cry again.

Tentatively his arms raised to encircle her, a hand lifting to stroke her hair as he awaited her answer. She found herself leaning into his touch, even as she said, “It would be cruel of me to say yes.”

“Why would you say that?”

“I’m not a good match for you, James Norrington. I am a poor excuse for a lady. I am wicked and bold and rash and improper and always say the wrong things. I don’t deserve you—”

Perhaps it was the claret he’d consumed earlier, but James felt himself rather warming up to his defense, expounding, “Nonsense. You _need_ a man like me. Someone steadfast, who will love you with all his heart, unconditionally. Someone who will support you, but also give you the freedom you need. And I need _you,_ you wild tempest of a girl, to bring a breeze to my sails when I become too immersed in the drudgery of the world. You bring light into any room you enter, Elizabeth Swann, and I turn to you like a flower follows the sun. Without you I will _die._ ”

He kissed her once more, and she offered no protest, melting against him with a little moan that filled him with the most acute longing, her fingers curling in the lapels of his coat. Was this a dream, he marveled? For he was kissing Elizabeth Swann, and gladly she was letting him. He could press his lips to hers for blissful hours on end, he reckoned. He did not want to stop. “Grant me another chance, Elizabeth,” he entreated between kisses. “Let me be good to you.”

Elizabeth tilted her head back against the insistence of his ardor, sighing as his mouth trailed the long line of her throat, his arm intoxicatingly firm around her waist. Who knew that under that stoic façade James Norrington was so filled with passion? _For her,_ the most incredible part of it. _All for her._ “I warned you,” she sighed, smiling in spite of herself. “Very well, but _I warned you._ ”

 

XXX

 

Governor Weatherby Swann searched the crowd, frowning as he had trouble finding his daughter. She’d been moping on the sidelines for the better part of the evening, which hurt his heart, and yet made her uncharacteristically easy to keep track of. Now, she seemed to have disappeared, and experience told him this may not bode well.

Yet when suddenly she appeared from the gardens, upon _James Norrington’s_ arm no less, Weatherby could not suppress a happy smile. For they seemed to be laughing about something, James stooping from his lofty height to whisper into her ear, winning a bright smile and a girlish giggle. A _real_ smile, and heaven knew she’d not done that since the blacksmith ran off.

It was a most interesting development, to be sure, and one that warmed the aging Governor’s heart. Weatherby could not read semaphore, though he had been told in conspiratorial tones by their hostess that the decorations urged the guests to _engage the enemy more closely._ Of course, most remained ignorant of the meaning of the flags, but it seemed James Norrington had taken the direction to heart. The sight of the happy couple caused many of the ladies present to scowl, but Weatherby was very glad for it.

Perhaps he would have a Commodore for a son-in-law after all.

**Author's Note:**

> I admit that I stole the idea of the decorations from Patrick O’Brian’s second book in the Aubrey-Maturin series Post Captain. I found it mighty amusing, and I hope you did too. :)


End file.
